A Different Side of War
by Prince Bartholomew
Summary: "Most worms fight, but there are others who choose a different path. Do I march towards battle with my head held high, or will I assist my brethren in another way?" One-shot.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Worms; they belong to _**Team17**_. I wish I at least had a Worm Plushie, though…

**A/N:** Yeah, I know, you can't play as a Medic Worm, but I wish it was an option. Since the stories in this section are mostly humor-based, I decided to be the odd-author-out and write about the darker side of the Wormy War. This story is told through the eyes of a Scout Worm, and the other Classes from _Worms: Revolution_ and the upcoming game _Worms: Clan Wars_ are briefly mentioned.

* * *

_When most people hear the word "War", they think about two nations engaged in combat, sending several able-bodied warriors to fight for what they believe is right. Some have families left behind in the safety of their own country, and for several families, their beloved soldiers never return home. Some are lucky and carry badges of honor and nobility, but there are others who lose parts of themselves in the heat of battle and end up mentally scarred as well. Eventually, these wars come to an end, and peace reigns those lands once again._

…_However, that's for humans. Us worms aren't quite so lucky. When we hear the word "War", it isn't about two large nations engaged in combat; it's several groups – nay, many separate factions – of soldiers fighting to the death. Once several teams are locked in a death match, nobody leaves until one team remains. You may lose all of your comrades and end up winning with a sliver of energy left, but at what cost? Our war is never-ending. There is no sign of peace in sight, and I fear that we'll be fighting until our entire species goes extinct._

_In our schools, we're taught education and many aspects of weaponry. We're trained in both mind and body, readying us for the calling card of battle. There are two different types of fighting styles available for us to learn; brave and sacrificial attacks are performed by Lightsiders, while remaining hidden and staying five steps ahead of the enemy is reserved for the Darksiders. While my classmates buried themselves in the subjects of scientific warfare or busied themselves with target practice, I deterred myself from the thought of causing harm and, instead, studied medicine. I read books about worm anatomy and searched for books about helping others._

_Eventually, I was transferred to a medical school. Healer worms aren't unheard of, but they are rather uncommon; many studied the art of surgery to remove harmful objects or replace a faulty organ, and others practiced the techniques that were useful on the battlefield. I was asked what type of duties I'd like to perform, and I found myself leaning towards the role of a field medic. I learned how to apply tourniquets, bandage certain wounds, how to assist those subjected to poison, and many other techniques I'd never even heard of. At my graduation, I was given the option to wield a weapon or remain defenseless in the war. The thought of causing harm to a fellow worm disgusted me, and I willingly took an oath to remain without a weapon._

_To humans, this vow is known as the Hippocratic Oath. I have no desire to attack another worm or attempt to defend myself on the field. However, that does not make me completely vulnerable; by this vow, I am also protected under war law. I believe humans refer to these 'humane' laws as the Geneva Convention._

_Now, here I am, dressed in a proper field medic uniform with a supply bag strapped to my back. Though I've helped many fallen worms and called in airlifts for those in need of dire attention, it never gets any easier for me. No matter how horrible the wound or how potent the poison may be, it always pains me to see a fellow worm in such a state. Sadly, I don't think I'll ever get used to it._

xxx

I'd spotted the two from a distance; one distressed worm showing his loyalty by staying at the side of a gravely injured comrade. As I dashed closer – well, as much as one without legs and feet can dash – I noticed that the injured worm was being cradled gently in his friend's lap and looking up with remorse. Tears stained both faces; it was clear that they were very close or possibly brothers. One was repeatedly begging for his friend to stay with him while the other gasped for breath with a silent apology in his eyes.

When I was close enough, I could see the heavy amount of damage that this worm had sustained; his breathing was heavy and labored, blood covered his body, gushing onto his friend – as well as staining the grass below them – and that worried me. Reaching into my pack, I pulled out a portable breathing apparatus and carefully attached it to the injured worm's face. It was then that the two noticed me, and as I pulled out a sterilized cloth, I heard the uninjured worm's confusion.

"…A field medic…?"

I remained silent, cleaning away the blood. With the wounds visible, I knew what to do. They weren't too deep or large enough to require stitches, so I applied medicine to them before taking out some gauze and bandages. The uninjured worm lifted his friend slightly to give me better access with the wrapping, which I was grateful for. When I'd finished, I looked up at the other worm.

"Ye saved 'im! Ye saved me friend! Oh, may th' gods bless yer benevolent soul, Medic!"

_A Scottish worm…way out here? That's a first._ I gave a weak smile.

"Ah…I'm not done yet; I may have stopped the bleeding, but your friend has lost a lot of blood. Plus, I think he might have an internal injury or two."

The crestfallen look on the Scot's face was like a stab through the heart, the other worm looking just as sad, if not moreso. I reached into my pack and pulled out what any other worm would consider a cell phone.

"As I said, I'm not done yet. I'll just call an Air Lift, and he'll be taken to a hospital for full treatment. You can go with him, too."

The Scottish worm looked perplexed.

"…Air Lift…?"

I simply dialed the number for the nearest hospital in the area and held the communication device up to speak into.

"This is an on-duty field medic requesting an emergency Air Lift for an injured worm. Requesting that a respirator and blood for a transfusion be brought as well. Patient's class type identified as Soldier."

"_All right, we've got a lock on your location. Sending in an emergency chopper to retrieve the wounded. Should be there in five minutes at the most._"

"Over and out."

Turning off the device, I realized that the Scot was looking at me in awe.

"Ye identify class?!"

"It's required that each call-in for an Air Lift has a class identification. It wouldn't benefit an injured Heavy-type worm if I called in an Air Lift and the other medics thought I called for a Scientist-type. The choppers are differently sized to be able to carry and accommodate for each of the class types, and it only makes the situation worse if we screw it up."

I took this time to check over my patient again. His breathing didn't sound as ragged and pained as before, I realized. However, it would be up to the other medics to determine if he had any internal injuries or blood in his lungs, and it would be up to them to treat him further. His eyes gazed at me in worry, but I found myself smiling as I heard something in the distance.

"You'll be fine."

The familiar sound of a helicopter quickly got louder until the vehicle was hovering above us. We glanced up to see a stretcher on a platform being lowered, along with two Soldier-type medics and one Scientist-type. The injured worm was carefully placed onto the soft, portable mattress and fitted with a proper respirator. The portable breathing apparatus I'd applied earlier was carefully put away as the other medics began the blood transfusion. Once the injured worm was securely strapped to the stretcher and his friend placed on the platform as well, the other three medics gave me a salute, which I returned.

"Wot, th' lad's not comin' with us?"

The platform was steadily raised back up and into the helicopter, and I watched as it headed towards its destination. Once the vehicle was out of sight, I knew that I had to resume my search for the sick and wounded. A field medic stays on the battlefield until they're killed, injured, sick, or taken off-duty for rest.

That wasn't my first patient, and I knew that he certainly wouldn't be the last. Double-checking to make sure I still had a good stock of supplies, I slithered off into the wild blue yonder.

xxx

_There aren't any material rewards for my job, no badge of honor, and it certainly isn't something that would be elaborated on in our history texts. I didn't have to take that oath, and I was never forced to take up this uniform. I took the oath and wore the uniform of my own accord; if we don't help those in need, who else will? We help others because it's the right thing to do, and knowing that we've helped someone is a satisfying feeling._

_Even though some of us are protected under law, it isn't rare for a field medic to get caught in the crossfire of battle. Many of us don't make it to help another fallen warrior in battle, and, instead, end up dying on the field. I know my job is dangerous, but that won't deter me from my duty. Though I pray that my time doesn't arrive anytime soon, I don't doubt that I will be slain through the misfire of others._


End file.
